


Pheromone, my Batty

by aDarkerKnight



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Bondage, Drama, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-15
Updated: 2008-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aDarkerKnight/pseuds/aDarkerKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of romantic complications unfolds when Batman is exposed to a pheromone induced perfume.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [](http://rai-daydreamer.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rai-daydreamer.livejournal.com/)**rai_daydreamer**. :) She has this really fun icon that's got an image of Bruce and the caption " _I want you now, Clark!_ " — somehow this sparked an idea involving sex pheromones [something remarkably similar to sex-pollen] (this is how you can tell I was a big fan of _Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman_) and, uh, there are batcuffs in there, too. *lol* Kinky. ;)
> 
> This also fits into [](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/profile)[**bradygirl_12**](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/)'s [2008 DCU Fic/Art Bondage Challenge](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/181397.html).

Nervously, Superman handed Batman a small, tightly sealed vial containing some sort of amber liquid that needed to be identified.

"Be very careful with this," Superman warned. "Everyone who's come into contact with this solution has been turned into a sex-craving maniac." His laugh was humorless and filled with anxiety.

Smirking, Batman replied, "Wouldn't want me to turn into Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Wayne, now would we? Oh, but wait, isn't that what usually happens when the clock strikes noon?"

"I'm not kidding, B.!" Superman admonished, adopting his best superhero pose to strengthen his argument. "I don't know what's in this thing besides cheap perfume, but it's made the entire Daily Planet newsroom staff completely loony tunes — their libido is off the charts and inhibitions at an all-time low."

"Everyone except you, that is," Batman clarified as he placed the vial in a small wooden stand on his desk.

"Yeah, and believe me, if I knew anything about chemistry, I'd check this thing out myself, but I don't, and you're my last hope, 'cause, uh... well, you see..."

A barely noticeable smile appeared at the corner of Batman's mouth. "You turned your nerd friends into sex-machines?" he supplied.

Embarrassed, Superman looked down at his perfectly shiny red boots. He'd brought a sample of the perfume to one of his contacts at STAR Labs, but the scientist had inadvertently exposed himself and most of his staff to the compound, sending everyone's sex-drive right through the roof.

Batman's chuckle would have been inaudible to anyone without super hearing. Superman's head snapped up immediately at the faint sound of amusement.

"Not funny," he complained. "Just promise me you'll be careful with that thing?"

"When am I ever _not_ careful?" Batman asked, an eyebrow raised challengingly.

Superman shook his head. "Be _extra_ careful, then," he said as he lifted off the ground, momentarily hovering a few feet in the air. "I have to go back. You'll let me know what you find?"

"As soon as I'm done with the analysis," Batman promised and he watched his friend float toward one of the cave's hidden exits. "Worrywart," he added to himself, mumbling under his breath.

"I heard that," Superman shot over his shoulder.

Without missing a beat, Batman replied, "I know you did."

=:=:=

It had been nearly two hours since Superman had left the Batcave and gone back to The Daily Planet, but he still hadn't heard a peep from Batman, and he was starting to worry. A simple chemical analysis shouldn't take this long, especially considering the state-of-the-art equipment Batman had access to, courtesy of one of his alter ego's many high-tech research facilities.

Anxious and exhausted from having to fight off Lois's constantly renewed advances, Clark excused himself from the newsroom. He ran up the stairs to the roof of the building, throwing the door open with barely restrained force. Once outside, he activated his comm link.

"Hey, B., are you done yet? What's the hold up?" he asked.

When no answer came he asked again, traces of apprehension clearly detectable in his voice this time.

Finally, he heard a hissing sound and the Dark Knight's gravelly voice. "Don't panic, Boy Scout. I'm fine."

"What's taking so long?"

"What's taking so long are all the security measures I had to put in place before I could start working on this thing," Batman replied curtly.

"Fair enough," Clark agreed, relieved that his friend was indeed being careful with the compound. "Do you have an ETA?"

"Just give me a couple--" There was a pause, then something like a muffled curse.

"What's going on?" Clark enquired. The only answer he got came in the form of a wheezing cough and an awful lot of static. Worry bubbling up inside him, he shouted, "Are you okay?"

Batman finally replied, though crackles of static kept breaking up the communication. "There was......and........Robin....keep away.....dangerous.............except you--"

There was a sudden, piercing sound. Clark's hand flew to his ear, his face crumpling in pain. He tried to get through to Batman again, but there wasn't an answer, not even any crackles or static; just dead silence.

Fearing the worst, Clark immediately called Oracle. "Something went seriously wrong with an experiment Batman was conducting in the Batcave," he told her, not bothering with civilities.

"I'll have Robin check it out right away," the young woman answered in her usual no-nonsense manner.

"No! Robin needs to keep away from there at all costs!" At least, Clark was fairly certain that this was what Batman had tried to tell him; that Robin should keep away because of the danger.

Taken aback by the urgency in his tone, Oracle replied, "Okay, I'll tell him. But if Batman's injured and--"

"Just turn on that fancy spy-cam of yours and tell me what you see down there, will you?" Superman commanded more than he asked.

"Spy-cam? I have no idea what you're talking about," Oracle told him, feigning confusion.

"Look," he shot back, frustrated, "you and I both know there's surveillance equipment down there. Now, maybe you think _he_ doesn't know that — and perhaps he actually doesn't — but this is _me_ you're talking to and I've seen the cameras. So you're going to turn them on _right now_ and tell me--"

"Nothing," Oracle cut in flatly. Not giving Superman a chance to argue, she went on, "There's no feed coming from any of the cameras; not even audio."

Clark's voice was full of apprehension. "When's the last time you checked if they were operational?"

"They were fine last night," she told him, confirming his fears. Something had gone incredibly wrong down there.

"Okay, you try and reach him by any means you can," Clark instructed her, "And make sure _no one_ goes anywhere near the cave. I'll be over there in a flash."

He barely gave her time to reply before spinning into his spandex suit and taking off in the direction of Gotham at maximum speed.


	2. Chapter 2

To Superman's horror, the Batcave was filled with a thick cloud of black smoke that was so acrid it made his eyes water and his stomach lurch.

He stopped for a moment to get his bearings and give his enhanced senses time to get used to the environment, then, narrowing his eyes, he scanned the cave. He caught sight of a figure huddled on the ground, and he headed over to it as fast as he could.

Batman's suit was blackened and ripped. There were small rivulets of blood trickling down the side of his face.

"Are you hurt?" Superman asked, coughing, as he crouched down beside his friend.

The Dark Knight looked up. He appeared completely haggard, eyes bloodshot and pupils dilated. He finally spoke, with great difficulty. His voice was hoarse and low. "You shouldn't be here. Told you not to come."

Frowning, Superman ignored the incongruous comment. "What happened to you? Are you hurt?"

"I told you not to come," Batman replied, every word seemed like it required immense amounts of energy from him. "Please. Leave."

Superman shook his head. "No," he said, as authoritatively as he could. "I'm not leaving you here when you might be injured!"

Quickly, he ran a visual check across his body, checking with his x-ray vision for any possible injuries. Fortunately, he found none.

When Superman looked at Batman's face again, he was surprised by his expression. And his eyes... they had this light in them, something that almost looked like... desire?

Somehow hoping that this was all just a hallucination, Superman closed his eyes immediately. A fraction of a second later, he shook his head and opened them again. But the scene was still the same as before, and Batman was still looking at him like that and...

Oh, no.

It was that perfume. That weird, lust-inducing compound. Batman had been exposed to it. This was bound to have disastrous results, Superman thought. His only hope was that Bruce's playboy reputation was a little over-done, else... well, if it wasn't, he was likely to turn into one hell of a sex machine.

Superman was glad to have been the one to find Bruce in the cave. This way no one would ever have to know what had happened here; no one would know whose fault this was. He'd make sure Bruce was okay, and that the effects of the compound wore off and... everything would be fine.

Besides, even though Batman had that look in his eyes, Superman knew that it was quite safe being around him. At least, it was for _Superman_. For one thing, Bruce Wayne only ever dated women. And for another, Clark had noted — while at The Daily Planet — that even though the compound increased everyone's sex drive exponentially, it did not cause anyone to go against his or her sexual orientation. Nor did it make anyone go after someone they had not previously had any interest in. They had all naturally gone for people they were attracted to in the first place.

Therefore, Clark was absolutely certain that Bruce wouldn't start hitting on him.

Which was probably a good thing, because if the tables had been turned, Clark knew that he would have been all over Bruce... And that would have had _disastrous_ results.

Thankfully, Superman wasn't affected by this strange brew, and Batman simply didn't swing that way.

Ignoring the look on Batman's face, and his feeble attempts at pushing the Man of Steel away — stubborn bats never accepted help from anyone, did they? — Superman tried to pull Batman up. Had he not been worried about being chastised for it, he would simply have lifted him up into his arms. But Superman wasn't in the mood to argue his choices and so, he simply placed Batman's arm around his shoulders, and his own arm around the man's waist, hoisting him up as he moved to stand.

Batman's resistance seemed to come to an abrupt end, and Superman felt him sagging against him. Bruce's head lolled back, then found Superman's shoulder and rested there. Jaw clenched tightly from the moment he felt the first tingles of Bruce's hot breath against his skin, Superman endeavored to drag his friend away from the science lab, and all the way to the small cot over at the other end of the cave.

"Is it just me, or are you really hot in here?" Batman mumbled, half-coherently.

Frowning, Superman replied, "I don't know, it's kind of warm, I guess?" Perhaps Bruce was running a fever? He'd have to check and make sure, once he set him down on the cot.

All of a sudden, Bruce's arm fell limply from Superman's shoulders, brushing his lower back through his cape, as it went. The Dark Knight's arm dangled like a rag, bouncing off Superman's butt with every new step.

Clark tried his best to ignore it.

He also tried to ignore the touch of Bruce's lips against his neck, but by then, the Kryptonian was breathing hard. Even as fast and as strong as he was, they were still several yards away from their destination. With a precarious grip on a barely conscious Batman whose feet were dragging on the floor, Superman knew that he had to be careful; he couldn't very well super-speed over there and risk injuring his friend.

Besides, it wasn't as though he'd never carried him like this before. It wasn't as though they'd never touched before — accidentally or otherwise. This wasn't any different, Clark rationalized.

Except somehow, it felt different.

It occurred to Clark that he'd just been exposed to the compound for the third time today. Perhaps he wasn't _completely_ invulnerable to it, and the effects were cumulative?

Or perhaps it was what he'd seen in Bruce's eyes just before that had him... perturbed?

Clark shook the thought out of his mind, groaning. This wasn't the time.

He started walking a little faster.

A few minutes that felt like an absolute eternity later, Superman set Batman down on the small bed, as gently as he could. He extended a hand to the other man's forehead, checking to make sure that his temperature felt normal.

Batman seemed to regain his senses the moment Superman's hand left his forehead. Bloodshot eyes sprung open, and he sat up on the bed. Slowly, he ran his tongue over parched lips before speaking.

"You need... to... leave," he managed to say, seemingly fighting to get every word out.

Superman shook his head. "No, I told you, I'm not going to leave you like this."

"Can't stay... in control..." Batman replied, weakly.

"It's okay, Bruce," Superman assured him. "Don't fight so hard. Just relax."

Eyes dancing in their sockets, Batman licked his lips again, but this time, instead of fighting to get words out, he lunged for Superman, grabbing the front of his spandex suit in tight fists and pulling him in.

Superman immediately tried to get away, but Batman had him in an iron grip.

"What are you doing?" Superman asked, startled.

He tried to get Batman to let go of him, using as much of his incredible strength as he could without causing his friends any injuries. This time, he managed to pry Batman away, but the Caped Crusader seemed to have regained all his strength and he was putting up quite a fight.

Desperately, Superman tried to reason with his friend. "Bruce! Stop it!"

"Don't want to fight," Bruce slurred.

"I don't want to fight you either, Bruce," Superman replied, and Bruce seemed to calm a bit. "But you're not thinking straight."

Bruce chuckled. "Not straight," he said, with a lopsided-smile. "And you?"

Superman sighed. This was a lot worse than he'd originally thought. Batman wasn't making any sense at all anymore. Obviously, whatever had blown up, it had to be more than just the compound. The man was clearly delirious — drugged by more than just some extra-strong, sex perfume.

"Thankfully, _my_ head is just fine," Superman stated, when Batman repeated his question.

"Oh yes," Batman agreed, a dreamy expression in his voice. "Head is just fine."

He lunged for Superman again who pushed him away.

"Bruce, stop!" Superman fought to keep him at bay as best he could while still being careful not to hurt him. "Stop it, or I'll have to forcefully restrain you."

Batman smiled, and Superman could see from the look in his eyes that he was definitely not himself. "You'd tie me up?" Batman asked.

"If I have to," Superman admitted. He would rather it not come to that, but if he had to, he guessed that this would probably be a lot safer.

"I have handcuffs," The Dark Knight stated, licking his lips.

"That's nice," Clark told him, absently. Sighing, he added, "Bruce, please stop fighting me like this."

"I don't want to fight you," Bruce replied. Then he smiled, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "I don't want to _fight_ you," he repeated, "I want to _fuck_ you."

Startled, Superman gasped. His eyes grew wide and he froze in place as his brain started to make sense of things.

Immediately, Superman realized that, unlike he'd originally thought, Bruce hadn't exactly been talking gibberish all along. It didn't seem to make any sense, but that was simply because Clark hadn't been listening to what Bruce had really been saying — because he had assumed that he was delirious.

Although Bruce's words didn't follow the same pattern of conversation as Clark's, they weren't completely out of context. In fact, if you took into account the fact that he was drugged and sexually stimulated by the perfume compound, everything he'd said actually _did_ make sense.

Bruce had been coming on to him.

And although he'd been less than subtle about it, Clark had still managed to misunderstand the entire exchange.

He swallowed hard. He couldn't very well leave Bruce alone, especially considering the fact that the man was drugged out of his mind and there was no telling what he'd do if he got out of the cave. But how was Clark supposed to stay here and keep an eye on him if Bruce kept trying to put the moves on him? And more importantly, how was he possibly going to be able to resist him?

Lost in his thoughts, Clark had inadvertently loosened his grip on Bruce, who took the opportunity to lunge at him once more.

Clark came crashing back to the here and now the moment he felt Bruce's lips upon his own; felt his bottom lip pulled into the other man's warm, wet mouth. For a half second he let himself respond to the kiss, until suddenly his conscience caught up with him again and he pushed Bruce away once more.

"We can't do this," Clark said, shaking his head. His heart was pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. "We can't do this, Bruce. You're not yourself."

Bruce frowned. "Yes, I am. Right now. This is me," he explained, panting slightly. "No mask. Just me." His eyes took on a pleading look, and, whispering, he added, "And, oh god, I want you so bad."

"It's just the drugs talking, Bruce," Clark protested, his resolve weakened considerably. "You're not thinking straight."

Smirking, Bruce said, "No, definitely not straight."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Yes, I kind of got that, but thank you for the clarification."

"Neither are you."

"Perhaps not, but that's not the point. Bruce, you're not yourself, and I'm not going to let you do anything that you're — we're — going to be sorry for in the morning. And that's the end of it."

"Always the Boy Scout," Bruce said, his eyes narrowing. "I think you need to be taught a lesson on how to enjoy yourself."

An eyebrow raised in disbelief, Clark retorted, "And how do you plan on teaching me this lesson?"

"With this," Bruce replied, pulling a pair of batcuffs from his utility belt. At Clark's very unimpressed sigh, Batman reached into another compartment of his utility belt. "And this," he said, pulling out a small lead box, which he opened immediately, before Superman had any chance at all to react.

Superman gasped in horror at the first glimpse of the green crystal that was contained within the box. He doubled over in pain. "No!" he cried, "Stop!"

"Resistance is futile," Batman said, an evil gleam in his eyes, madness now completely clouding his judgment. He stood over a helpless Superman, writhing in pain on the floor, his eyes filling with tears as he begged for mercy.

"Bruce, please," Clark said, barely above a whisper, every breath causing waves of pain in his chest. "Please don't..."

And everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

Clark opened his eyes slowly; painfully. His head felt as though someone had tried to crack it open. His lungs burned with every breath he took. His mouth was dry, and his lips were parched.

Kryptonite, his mind supplied immediately. He'd been exposed to green Kryptonite.

He tried to move, only to find that his hands were bound, and something heavy was restraining him at the hips.

To his absolute horror, he realized that he was handcuffed to the bedpost, completely powerless, and that the " _something heavy_ " which was restraining him, was in fact Bruce's arm. Worse yet, from what he could see — and feel — he'd been stripped of his clothes, left with only his red cape to cover his naked body. Bruce didn't seem to be wearing much of anything either, save for a pair of briefs and his gloves, of all things.

Clark had absolutely no memory of what had gone on since he'd blacked-out, nor did he have any idea how long he'd been unconscious.

He no longer felt any of the tell-tale pain that came with exposure to Kryptonite, and so he guessed that Bruce had somehow regained some of his good sense and put the crystal back in its lead box. But apparently not before it had stripped Clark of everything that made him Superman. And since he had no way of knowing how long he'd been exposed, he didn't have any way of knowing how long it might take for his powers to return. Of course, unless he could get out of the cave and into the sunlight, there wasn't much of a chance that his powers would come back. And the batcuffs pretty much made all of this a moot point for the time being.

Clark tried to free himself, but to no avail. His sore, powerless muscles couldn't muster enough strength for the task. The only thing he achieved was to disturb a sleeping Bruce, who responded by tightening his grip around Clark's midsection.

When Clark tried to speak, his first couple of attempts produced no words at all, just a grating sound from his dry throat.

"Bruce," he finally managed to choke out, coughing as he did.

It was no use. Bruce did not wake up. Clark tried moving, but his sore limbs and weak muscles were no match against the batcuffs or the strength of the man who was holding him in a vise grip embrace.

"Bruce!" Clark said again, more forcefully.

There was a grunt, but nothing more.

"Dammit, Bruce, wake the hell up!" Clark shouted, as loudly as he could. He coughed again, his lungs burning.

This time did the trick. Bruce started stirring, then he lifted his head slowly and opened his eyes.

"What?" he mumbled sleepily. "What's wrong? Where's the emergency?"

"You handcuffed me to the bedpost, you psycho, that's what's wrong!" Clark complained, pulling on his restraints to cause the chains to rattle against the metallic bars. "Get me out of this!"

Bruce blinked, not completely awake yet. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. "Superman?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes, Superman," Clark repeated, annoyed. "Now, for heaven's sake, Bruce, get me out of your damn batcuffs. Now!"

"Wha--?"

Eyes wide, Bruce scrambled to a sitting position. He looked at his unfortunate bedmate, frowned, his mouth gaping, unable to make sense of the scene before him — Superman, tied to his bedpost.

"I--" Bruce looked nervously all around them. "I don't know where the key is," he admitted, eyes still wide in confusion, and now apparently, guilt.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Clark mumbled between his teeth.

"No, I--" Bruce frowned again. "Can't you just break them off?" Something wasn't adding up, but his mind was too much of a mess for him to be able to figure out what it could be.

Clark sighed. "No, I can't," he said, completely defeated. "You took out the green K ring, I'm completely powerless." He paused, then, a pitiful expression on his face, he admitted, "I can barely move. Please get me out of this."

"Oh, uh, of course," Bruce mumbled, still very much confused.

As Bruce moved about the bed, searching for the key to his batcuffs, Superman's silky red cape slid off of Clark, exposing his perfectly sculpted body in all of its naked glory.

Bruce suddenly stopped, his eyes drawn to the other man's physique. "You definitely _are_ super, aren't you?" he said, blinking in wonder at the sight of his friend's incredible attributes.

Through clenched teeth, Clark replied, "The _key_!"

"Oh, oh, the key," Bruce muttered. "Sorry."

He resumed his frantic search for the small object, but found nothing. He reached into the bedside table, leaning over Clark as he did.

Clark groaned at the contact of skin on skin; Bruce's warm and soft against his own. Shivers ran through him like wildfire. Desperately, he tried to force his legs to move, tried to twist and turn in a way that might enable him to hide his more private parts from view, and let him regain at least a semblance of dignity. Except that every movement caused both bodies to come into contact again, and Clark was now breathing hard, and fighting a losing battle against his libido.

"What are you--?" Bruce asked, looking down.

Clark sighed helplessly, his cheeks reddening, and he stopped trying to hide his ever-increasing arousal. Eyes closed, unable to hold the other man's gaze, he whispered an apology.

Bruce raised an eyebrow then chuckled before resuming his search for the key. But after seeing _hard proof_ that his friend might not exactly be as virtuous as people thought — and he had gotten quite an eyeful — Bruce was finding himself aroused as well.

Purposely leaning over Clark's body again, Bruce looked under the bed, taking a lot more time than he should have. When Clark tried to move again — to force Bruce off of him somehow — he was faced with the realization that his discomfort wasn't the only thing that was growing around here. He groaned, giving up his attempts.

"Who knew that you, of all people, would have hidden kinks, huh?" Bruce said, flashing Clark a naughty grin.

Clark frowned, worried by the look he'd seen in Bruce's eyes. Obviously, the man's mind wasn't completely clear yet — whatever drugs had clouded his judgment and taken over his good sense was still definitely affecting him, even now.

Bruce sat up in bed and, with a gloved-finger, he started tracing around the batcuffs restraining Clark at the wrists. "So handcuffs excite you, do they?" he asked, in a low, hoarse voice. His finger trailed from Clark's wrist, all the way down the inside of his arm, and over his shoulder.

"No, they don't," Clark answered in a long sigh, his cheeks reddening desperately.

Jaw clenched and eyes closed as tightly as he could, Clark tried to ignore the feel of the leather-clad finger across his skin. Beads of sweat formed at his hairline, and he had to fight to repress a shiver when Bruce pressed the palm of one hand flat against his chest. Clark licked his lips nervously, knowing exactly the type of reaction he'd have — and that he'd be powerless to hide it — should Bruce decide that it was fair game to continue on with his exploration, should he allow himself to go on caressing Clark's body with his gloved-hand.

But Bruce's hand did not move from where it rested, just above Clark's heart. Instead, he bent down to whisper in Clark's ear, "What is it, then, that's got you so spectacularly aroused?"

No longer able to fight against the reality of the matter, as logical brain functions were replaced by raw need and urgent desire, Clark simply whispered, "You," his eyes rolling back in their sockets, the moment Bruce's hand started traveling further down his chest.

"We're going to have to do something about that, then," Bruce told him, still whispering.

A heartbeat later, he was straddling him, the round softness of his ass pressing down hard against Clark's powerful erection. Bruce bent down again, his face mere inches away from the man lying below him.

"And I know just the thing," he said, his voice almost that of his darker alter ego.

With that, Bruce closed the distance between them, capturing Clark's lips with his own, eliciting a throaty moan from the powerless superhero who surrendered completely, kissing his partner back with all the pent-up passion of years of repressed desires.


	4. Chapter 4

Clark opened his eyes slowly; nervously. His head was swimming in a sea of conflicting emotions. With every breath he took, his lungs filled with air perfumed by the musky scent of sweat and semen. His lips still held the ghost of countless shared kisses.

He looked down to the man sleeping huddled at his side and closed his eyes again, burying his head in the pillow under it.

They'd had sex together.

He and Bruce had had sex together.

 _Superman_ and _Batman_ had had _sex_.

 _Together_.

Clark shut his eyes tightly, holding his breath. But releasing it and opening his eyes again did not make the scene go away. Not that he precisely wanted it to go away — not after all these months where he'd longed for just exactly this — but none of this felt real, or believable. And worse yet, even if it actually was real, it wasn't supposed to have happened like this.

Not with drugs and kryptonite and batcuffs.

Not when Bruce's consciousness was completely overridden by his most primal urges, thanks to some unknown mind-altering perfume.

Because as much as Clark had wanted this to happen — and he'd spent so many nights lying awake imagining precisely that — in none of his hypothetical scenarios was either of them affected by any type of drug whatsoever. They were supposed to enter into this completely aware of what was happening, completely aware of the consequences.

Not like this.

Not with Clark handcuffed to the bedpost and forced to submit.

Of course, he hadn't exactly been forced into much of anything at all - he'd been a willing participant in all of this - but that didn't make it right. By giving in, letting things happen, instead of resisting and putting a stop to all of this, Clark had effectively taken advantage of Bruce.

Clark tried to console himself by convincing himself that he hadn't been fully himself, that the perfume compound, whatever it was, was able to affect even him, invulnerability aura or not.

But that did nothing to help ease away the shame, the disgust he felt with himself. And here he was still handcuffed to the bedpost, unable to leave, still in bed with the object of his shame.

With all the energy he could muster, Clark tried to focus his laser vision on the batcuffs' chain and free himself. Somehow, luckily, he was able to burn through enough of a chain link for it to snap and finally, he was free. Granted the cuffs were still on his wrists, but he wasn't stuck to the bedpost anymore — he'd figure the cuffs later. His powers would return soon, right? Just a few minutes of exposure to sunlight....

He extricated himself from bed as carefully as he possibly could. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Bruce. Heaven only knew what Bruce would have in mind once he woke up — and if he was still under the influence, Clark wasn't sure that he wanted to find out. Worse yet, if he _wasn't_ still under the influence, Clark wasn't sure he wanted to have this kind of morning after conversation. For some reason, he was pretty much certain that the best course of action would be to sweep this one under the carpet and never speak of it again. And he was mighty sure that Bruce would agree with him on that one.

Hurriedly, Clark fetched something to wear from where he knew Bruce kept a change of street clothes. It would be a tighter fit, of course — Bruce was just a tad less built than he was, and just a few inches shorter, too — but he couldn't very well put on his Superman suit and walk out of the Batcave. Or just _walk_ anywhere for that matter. It wouldn't be very Superman of him, now would it? Bruce's clothes would have to do, and Clark would leave through the Manor, too. Hopefully, he'd find a way to avoid Alfred, else he knew he would have to explain and he was in no mood to do anything like that!

Clark put on a pair of slacks and a dress shirt — both of which were easily worth more than his entire wardrobe — and then he looked for socks and shoes.

Finally, he grabbed his spandex suit, stuffed it with his boots and cape inside a leather backpack that was lying around, and, taking a last look behind him to make sure that Bruce was still sleeping soundly, Clark walked away to the elevator that would bring him back to the Manor.

Less than five minutes later, he was stepping out of Bruce's luxurious home, having somehow managed to avoid Alfred, as he had hoped he would. Clark breathed a sigh of relief. Just a few minutes of sunlight and his powers would return, he told himself as he started walking away.

Eventually, his powers did return, but not before he'd walked a full three miles. When his powers started manifesting themselves again, and Clark started to hear voices coming from people miles and miles away, he made a beeline for the first hiding place he could find. Once there, he spun into his Superman costume and, after a few more minutes of soaking up sunlight, he took off to the sky and headed to Metropolis at mach-speed.

Defeated, angry, feeling awful and, most importantly, feeling dirty and shameful, Clark walked into his apartment, through the balcony door. He headed straight for the shower, where he spent the next half hour, and then some. Searing hot water poured from the showerhead as Clark obsessively lathered himself with soap — as though he could possibly wash away the guilt from his skin and his conscience with a jet of hot water and a few drops of oatmeal-scented shower gel.

He emerged from the shower, toweled himself off slowly, and exited the mist-filled bathroom the way a death-row prisoner would head off to the gas chamber. However long a shower he took, it wouldn't change the fact of what he'd done. Of what he'd let Bruce do, if he wanted to phrase it properly. It wouldn't change a thing, and he'd still feel just as horrible about it hours from now, days from now. A lifetime from now. What he'd done was inexcusable.

Bruce was going to kill him. Dead. He'd get the green K out again and let him die a slow, painful death.

Maybe not.

But they'd never work together again in this lifetime for sure - they'd probably never speak to one another again, either. Superman would have to quit the League.

Unless... If Clark was really lucky - which was rather unlikely, considering - Bruce would have no memories of the events of the night before. Clark could simply find a way to forget them, too. He'd go to the Fortress and figure something out with the crystals if he so needed. Whatever had to be done so that things would go back to normal.

Because Clark desperately needed things to be normal again. Normal was good. And this...well, this wasn't anything even near normal, and he didn't know how to cope with this at all. So, best go back to normal — and soon.

Tonight, right after work. He'd go to his Fortress and figure things out.

With that thought in mind, Clark got dressed and headed off to the Daily Planet building.


	5. Chapter 5

Clark had spent pretty much the entire workday so far sitting at his desk at the Daily Planet, halfway between perplexed and preoccupied.

Lois had tried to force him to come along on a story, but when she'd seen the look in his eyes - the look of confusion - she'd just quit trying. He'd be completely useless, and the last thing she needed was a useless partner; she might as well have been working with Jimmy!

It was pushing four o'clock when Clark heard the chirping sound of his comm link. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, desperately hoping that it would be Oracle, or whoever else might be on duty at the Watchtower. Anybody except Bruce.

Of course, when he hit the button, the voice he heard on the other end was Batman's.

"S.? Are you busy?" Batman asked and Clark couldn't help but notice that his voice sounded perfectly normal. Perhaps the effects of the perfume had worn off.

"Define busy," Clark murmured, making sure that no one heard him, as he started walking off toward the supply closet.

Clark kept the comm link active at all times, even when he was working, but he was careful not to let anyone see that he was having a seemingly one-sided conversation. Often times, he would pick up the phone, pretend he'd made or gotten a call — which, in essence, was the case — but sometimes, he would leave the room, depending on the turn the conversation was likely to have. And this one, he knew, had the potential to turn his cheeks beet-red or something equally embarrassing.

"Can you come over?" Batman asked.

There was some hesitation in his voice, Clark noted. This wasn't going to be good. This likely meant that Bruce remembered.

Clark swallowed hard. "When? Now?"

"If you can," Batman replied, all traces of hesitation having now vanished from his low, gravely voice. "Please?"

Clark frowned. Since when did Batman ever say _please_? He usually barked orders. Clark didn't like this much at all.

He sighed. "Is something wrong?" he asked, hoping the response would be yes, and then Batman would explain what he wanted, Clark would laugh it off because it would be something terribly common and logical, and he was just overreacting.

There was a pause at the other end of the link. "Wrong? No... I just need you." And then Batman did the absolute unthinkable — at least in Clark's view — and he added, "Please?" in an obviously pleading voice. There was nothing commanding about it, he was just being...polite?

"Um, okay..." Clark replied hesitantly. "Let me wrap up a few things over here and I'll be right over."

"See you then," came the almost enthusiastic response. "Batman out."

Clark returned to his desk, slightly confused. He wasn't really sure that Bruce was thinking clearly at all. He sounded rational enough, and his words weren't slurred; he sounded very normal... except he clearly didn't sound anything near normal at all. Batman never, ever asked anyone to come over, _please_. Batman barked orders. And then he would bark at you when you didn't comply.

And this wasn't Bruce, either, Clark knew. Bruce used the phone, and his normal voice. The comm link was only ever used by Batman, and only for work-related purposes. And that in no way included Daily Planet activities, even though Bruce Wayne was the owner. No, the comm link was for Justice League related activity, or communications that required the call to be made on a secure, scrambled line. Nothing else. Ever.

It occurred to Clark, as he pondered over this, that, if it had been Batman calling, then it meant that this was about work. It wouldn't be about last night. Despite himself, Clark breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps Batman had been able to complete the analysis on the compound, after all? Could that be it?

Clark saved the files he'd been working on, on his computer, then shut it off, closed the file folders that had been opened on his desk and stored them in a drawer. He always kept his desk meticulously clean, something which he knew drove Lois crazy — and some days, this was exactly the reason why Clark did it, too.

He said goodnight to a couple of his coworkers, as he headed off toward the elevator. Once inside, he punched the button for the top floor, exited the elevator cabin and took the three small stairs that led outside, to the roof of the Daily Planet building. Half a second later, he was spinning into his red and blue suit, and flying off toward Gotham City.

He landed inside the Batcave with a soft thud, then walked into the science lab, where he had expected to find Batman. Only, Batman wasn't there.

Superman scanned the cave — and saw no trace of his partner and friend.

"I don't have time to play games, Bruce," he called out in no particular direction. "Where are you?"

"Here," came a low, gravely voice in his ear.

Superman's knees almost went weak as Batman's hot breath tickled his skin, and he sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of the other man's lips on his neck. The Kryptonian spun around at super speed, facing his "attacker".

"Please don't..." Clark all but begged, even though the rest of his body was clearly not opposed to the idea. "You said you needed me?"

"Oh yes, I really do," Bruce said, his voice still low and hoarse.

Clark cursed the lead lining in Batman's cowl that prevented him from seeing the expression on his face. Not that Bruce was normally very expressive anyway — or at least, he could be, he just chose not to.

"What do you need me for?" Clark finally asked, when it seemed like Bruce wasn't going to explain. "What can I do?"

With an evil-looking smirk, Batman replied, "Me."

Clark frowned, very much confused by his answer. "What?"

"Do me," Bruce clarified. "I need you. To do me."

All the blood drained from Superman's face as he was hit full force with the realization that Bruce was still affected by the drugs.

Of course he was, Clark reasoned. His Daily Planet co-workers had been under the influence for the better part of two days after having been lightly sprayed with the perfume. Bruce had been exposed to doses that were infinitely more potent than just a fine mist when the contents of the vial had somehow blown up in his face.

Who knew just how long he was going to be affected by this? How long would Clark have to keep Bruce isolated — and, quite possibly, satiated, too — before the man returned to his normal, impassive self?

Before Clark could even come up with an answer, Bruce was all over him like an octopus. Hands running over the soft blue spandex of the Man of Steel's costume, slowly turning the nickname into a verifiable reality. Clark tried to protest, but any word he might have wanted to utter were swallowed in a kiss.

Bruce pulled back, almost gasping for air. Leaning his forehead against Clark's he whispered, "I can't stop thinking about last night." A long breath intake later, he added, "I hope you have nowhere else to be, because I'm not letting you out of here for a while."

Clark chuckled a little nervously. "You're not going to pull out the green K again, are you?"

"Of course not," Bruce told him, frowning.

Hands up as if to mark his surrender, Clark said, "I'll do anything you want, but please don't use the ring again. Please."

An eyebrow raised, Bruce asked, "Have you always been so deliciously submissive?"

"Only when confronted with a Kryptonite-yielding bat."

"I won't take it out of its box," Bruce said, sounding surprisingly sincere for someone drugged out of their mind. "But I've got another pair of batcuffs, if that strikes your fancy..."

"No, that's fine, thank you," Superman replied, gritting his teeth. "Remind me to bring you back the last pair you thought I'd enjoy being tied with. They're at my apartment. They might need a little bit of repair, though." The last words he said with a sneer.

"Keep them," Batman replied with the shadow of a smile on his lips. "You can fix them, can't you? Weld them, or whatever, with your laser vision? And then if you're ever in the mood to use them again..."

"No thank you, I don't think I'll ever be in the mood to be tied to a bedpost, powerless and naked, ever again."

"Who says _you_ had to be tied..."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me? You're into that stuff?"

"As long as I'm into you, I don't care how it came to be," Batman whispered to Superman's ear. Then he traced his ear with his tongue and let it glide along his jaw, right up to his chin before kissing him, fully, hungrily.

And Clark found himself completely unable to do anything but respond to the kiss, just as fully; just as passionately.

In the back of his mind, a voice kept screaming that he shouldn't do this, that it wasn't right. Bruce was obviously still not himself. But if Bruce had been thinking about the previous night all day, it was really nothing compared to how much thought Clark had given it.... And Clark's mind worked at super speed, which made thoughts go through his head at a million miles a second. He could think about several hundred more things in a millisecond than any normal person could — and every single one of these thoughts had been about Bruce. About the man's hands on his skin, about his soft, plump lips on his, his tongue running along his chest, teasing him all the way down to where it had found Clark's achingly hard erection, and--

Clark wanted this again. So much. To hell with the fact that Bruce wasn't himself. This was probably the last time Clark would ever experience this — being with this man — and as much as his brain screamed at him that the circumstances were all wrong, he couldn't bring himself to care.

This was too good for him to want to care about anything else. It was so good, so... it was so... it was... Bruce.

It was _Bruce_.

His name, echoing in Clark's mind, seemed to melt away any rational thought that he might have been trying to form. Instead, he made a small sound at the back of his throat, which had immediate repercussions.

Bruce pulled away sharply, leaving Clark eyes wide and wondering what had happened, what he'd done wrong. Panting, eyes shining with desire, Bruce grabbed him by the collar. "Bed. Now," he croaked.

It took barely half a second for the command to register in Clark's mind. And three heartbeats to drag Batman back to the small cot on the other side of the Batcave, at near super speed. He threw him down on the bed, his mind racing as raw need and desire coursed through his veins, clouding his judgment. Just a moment later, Clark was lying over him, one knee between Bruce's legs, up high enough to nudge his balls, and his mouth all over the man's neck, then his jaw line, then finally claiming his lips.

A low moan came from deep in Bruce's throat, enflaming Clark even further. Without bothering to ask, or think twice about what he was about to do, Clark started ripping the armor off of Batman. Surprisingly, instead of a complaint - a protest - all that came from him were several more cries of pleasure.

"I have wanted you... so much.... for so long," Bruce mumbled between kisses and through the sounds of his armor being turned to shreds by Superman's strong hands. "Oh, god, this is so much better than you being submissive!"

"It'd be even better if you weren't under the influence," Clark heard himself answering, dejectedly, and mostly to himself.

Except that Bruce heard him - loud and clear. And he froze.

"What?" he asked, eyes growing wide and he pushed Clark swiftly away. "What do you mean, under the influence? I'm not under the influence of anything."

His own eyes growing wide, Clark bolted from where he was lying, atop Bruce. He wiped his mouth dry with one hand. "Wait, you're _clean_? I thought... But you-- this isn't making any sense." And staring down at a nearly naked Bruce wasn't helping Clark's mind concentrate on much that made sense at the moment, either.

Bruce hoisted himself up on one arm. "Of course I'm _clean_ ," he said, brows furrowed. "Why would you think I wasn't?" He paused and then, with a deeper frown yet, added, "Wait... you don't honestly think I the only way I'd-- That I wouldn't want-- You think I'm being irrational?"

"The thought did occur, yes," Clark replied, clearly confused. "I figured you were so far gone you weren't thinking right; that the only part of your brain that was functional was the most... shall we say... primal one. How was I supposed to know?"

"Okay, let's pretend for a second that I was behaving in a completely irrational manner," Bruce suggested. "Whatever reason would _you_ have for... well... you know... _ripping the armor off my back_?" he asked, an eyebrow raising as he let the last few words roll off his tongue.

Clark's cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson. What possible manner of answer could he give Bruce that wouldn't sound completely idiotic? He had never meant for any of this to happen to begin with - he'd woken up powerless and tied to the bedpost and things had happened then...that Clark had enjoyed more than he ever thought he would. And that, given the opportunity for a repeat performance, he'd let his hormones take control, biting into what definitely constituted a forbidden fruit.

Clark swallowed hard, wringing his hands nervously. "I just figured-- I--" He took a deep breath, letting it out in a frustrated sigh. "Look, I just figured I was doing you a favor. I don't know, okay? I thought you were under, and I was afraid you'd pull out the green K and... I figured if I gave in, then it'd be over and... well, you'd go back to being your normal self again soon, and that would be it... and well... anyway..."

"You seemed pretty willing for someone who was just giving in," Bruce said, getting up and reaching for some clothes to throw on. "Is there something you're not saying, big guy?"

"How long..." Clark cleared his throat. "How long have you been completely clean, would you say?"

"Since I woke up yesterday morning," Bruce replied, pulling a sweater over his head.

There was a strangled gasp, then a quick gust of wind. When Bruce's head peeked out of the sweater's collar he looked around and noticed he was alone. The gust of wind had been Superman leaving at super speed.

"Clark?" Bruce shouted after him, though considering the speed at which Superman could leave the scene, he would be miles away now. Of course, he also had super hearing, and would be likely to hear anyhow. "Clark, come back! Let's talk about this!"

Of course, Superman did not come back.

Angry, Bruce marched back to his computer console and hit a button to open a communication channel. A private, _encrypted_ one. "Clark!" he bellowed. "Get back here, will you? Get back here so we can discuss this!"

There was no answer, only the sounds of wind as Superman zipped through the skies, away from Gotham and on his way back to Metropolis.

Bruce slammed his fist down on the desk. "Dammit, Clark! At least tell me why you left in such a hurry, would you?" He sighed in complete frustration and confusion. "Please? Please, I don't understand..."

He waited for a few seconds, then, deciding he'd waited damn near long enough, he hit the button again, closing the comm link.

"Fine then, be that way," he shouted, furious.

Bruce dropped into the chair next to him, and mumbling a very long string of curses, he switched on the main computer display, immediately busying himself with work. The best way he knew to get his mind off just about anything, although Clark Kent was so incredibly infuriating, it would likely take Bruce several hours before he could get him completely out of his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

Clark flew back home as fast as he possibly could, breaking the sound barrier only moments after having left the Batcave.

He'd let Bruce take advantage of him. Not the other way around, not at all. Clark had spent an entire day agonizing over what he'd done, thinking he'd been the aggressor - however far from an aggression that had been - when in fact... in fact, Bruce had had his head about him the entire time.

Bruce had forced him into something he would probably not have agreed to otherwise -- well, okay, he might have if he had been _asked_. But this wasn't asking, this was taking - without asking and... Clark had let him and... Obviously all Bruce wanted from him was... clearly not the same thing Clark wanted at all. This was just about sex, not...

Clark didn't know what to think anymore. His thought were so jumbled, so confused. Everything that had happened - all under false pretenses. Or real ones, actually, but not the real ones that Clark thought they'd been. He didn't know where he stood anymore. Only that this was all wrong, and not what he wanted - that it shouldn't have been like this and that any chance for something else was now lost.

His comm link buzzed a few times on his way back to his apartment - he ignored it. Ignored Bruce's shouting. Ignored every word, even the last few, pleading ones. He blocked out his voice, even the sound of his heartbeat, from his super hearing. He didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear. He needed to think. Make sense of things that didn't make any, try to find some logic, some sense, something to hang on to.

Clark almost crashed head first into the glass door leading to his apartment from the balcony. He stopped barely inches away from it. He slid it open with a little too much force and for a split-second it seemed like the glass might shatter, but fortunately it didn't. He slid it shut behind him, though with a lot more care this time, and headed straight to the bathroom, his stomach lurching as he walked.

Moments later, he was standing in the shower, with searing hot jets of water falling all around him from the showerhead. He knew that water alone wouldn't help clear his thoughts of all the conflicting feelings that were clouding it - shower gel and shampoo wouldn't help much either - just like none of it had helped this morning. But it was all he could think of doing at the time.

He walked out of the shower several long minutes later, just as confused and freaked out as he had been when he had walked into it.

There was no way Superman was going out on patrol tonight, he knew. He was much too out of it, much too prone to error when his brain was busy thinking about all sorts of things like--

No! He wasn't going to start thinking about Bruce. About the feel of his mouth against his own, or the sounds he made when... when...

No!

He wasn't going to think about any of this. It was counterproductive. Very counterproductive. And though Superman wasn't going anywhere near a crime scene tonight - he'd be likely to cause more trouble than good - thinking about Bruce right now wasn't a good idea. No, Clark needed to clear his mind.

And then he remembered how he'd thought about going to the Fortress, this morning. Yes. He'd go to the Fortress. If anything else, he could escape there for a while. The Fortress was too far away from the rest of the world - he wouldn't hear anyone calling, from all the way there. He needed some peace and he was going to get it.

Spinning back into the red and blue spandex outfit, Clark exited his apartment through the balcony door and, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. He was halfway to the Arctic by the time anyone heard the sonic boom overhead.

Clark barged into the Fortress as subtly as a cannonball. Not that it mattered anyway; it was his home, and if he broke it, he could most certainly fix it later.

A few seconds later, his thoughts caught up with him.

He slumped to the cold floor, his back against a transparent ice crystal, his head between his hands.

How could he have let any of this happen? Why? He'd broken all his rules, let everything fall apart and was left with nothing.

=:=:=

Oracle started to worry when she realized that Superman hadn't checked in for well over twenty-four hours. This was definitely not like him. Being the Boy Scout he always was, Superman reported in every day with whoever was on monitor duty - he would check in more than once, even, which, she suspected, was simply for the sake of knowing what every one else was doing. A leader thing, she knew.

But according to logs, the last time Superman had checked in was when she'd spoken to him the other night, after there had been some sort of explosion or...something...down in the Batcave. Oh, granted, her instruments told her that Superman had made at least one trip from Gotham to Metropolis, and then another from Metropolis to the Arctic, but that didn't explain much at all.

And she could easily check if Clark Kent had reported for work, too - that wouldn't be very complicated at all - but that wouldn't tell her much besides the fact that he'd been to work. It wouldn't tell her a thing about why he was keeping radio silence, if that was indeed all he was doing.

She tried to contact him, but got no answer. She knew before trying that she wouldn't. She'd already tried numerous times before. His comm link, the communications station at the Fortress, where she suspected he was still hiding - all had stayed silent. It was as though Superman refused to speak to anyone. Which wasn't anything like Superman at all...

She checked every available communications log again.

There. One call last night, that had been made to him through the JLA's most private comm link system. And the point of origin for that was...

Oracle hit a key combination on her keyboard. A half second later, she had her answer.

Batman.

Just seconds before... no, actually, during Superman's flight back from Gotham.

She frowned. Why had Batman tried to get to Superman just seconds after he'd left Gotham - which, knowing Batman and his refusal to have any other superhero besides those from the Bat-family show their faces openly in _his_ city, meant the only place Superman might have been was in the Batcave.

Shrugging, Oracle called Batman. If anyone knew why Superman had suddenly gone incommunicado, it would be him.

"Hey, B., where's S.?" she asked, cutting right to the chase.

There was a hint of a snort on the other end of the link, then, "Hell if I know."

"You were the last one to talk to him," she explained. "At least, as far as I can tell. He's gone... missing, somehow."

"Missing?" Batman replied, with a trace of surprise in his voice. "You can't be serious, right? Just check for supersonic disturbances, you'll find him easily enough."

"I did, actually," she told him. "I think he's in the Fortress, but he's refusing to answer hails of any kind. Something's obviously wrong."

There was a sigh, and then Batman answered, "Well you'll have to ask him what that is, because I'm clueless." Mumbling to himself, he added, "Perfectly, fucking clueless is what I am."

"What?" Oracle asked, somewhat taken aback by his choice of words.

"Never mind," Batman replied curtly. "I haven't a clue where he is, why he's there, or when he'll be back. Or actually, maybe I do, but I doubt what I know will help anyone in any way."

After a short pause, Oracle commented, "B., you're not making any sense at all."

"Yeah, well neither is he," he snapped back. "Don't bug me with this, I have work to do."

With that, Batman cut the communication, leaving Oracle to wonder what on earth that was all about. One thing seemed for sure, though, Batman knew something he wasn't going to share - and no manner of trying to pry it out of him would do her any good. She'd find out, though - eventually.

With a sigh she tried calling Superman again, knowing there wouldn't be any answer. And sure enough there wasn't. So she called J'onn and asked him for help.


	7. Chapter 7

Clark sat in the Fortress for some time - minutes, hours, he wasn't sure at all, he'd completely lost track. It must have been a long time, though, because there had been several calls, both on his comm link and even a few coming through the Fortress' own communication console. He had ignored every last one of them.

They could do without him for a while. They'd all survived perfectly fine without him before he had ever shown up in Metropolis, and they would survive perfectly fine even if he disappeared completely. Besides, it wasn't as though there weren't any other superheroes around now, right? He wasn't planning on being away that long anyhow, just... a few more hours. Just long enough to make sense of things.

Suddenly, Clark felt a presence. Not a physical one, but a presence... in his mind.

J'onn.

Hands on his ears, as if that might help keeping a mind reader away, Clark tried to deny him access to his thoughts. Oh, he knew that J'onn would never, ever try and see anything that he wasn't supposed to see or know - unless there was something seriously wrong and this was the only way for him to fix it, which wasn't the case now.

"Get out of my head!" Clark shouted, looking up at the high crystal ceiling. "Leave me alone, J'onn."

An echo in Clark's mind seemed to ask, "Is something wrong, my friend?"

"I'm fine," Clark replied out loud, though he knew that simply thinking it would have been enough. "Just leave me alone, would you?"

Again, the eerie echo in his mind piped up, "If you need us, you will contact us, will you not?"

"Yes, I will," Clark said, still speaking aloud. "You can tell them I'm not injured. You can see that I'm not lying, can't you?" He felt the echo of a yes, and then went on, "Do that, then, and leave me alone, will you? Please?"

The echo seemed to say yes again, then Clark felt that it was gone. And he was alone with his thoughts again. Which, in retrospect might not necessarily be where he wanted to be right now... He could think of at least one place he'd rather be than...

No!

This was exactly where his mind wasn't supposed to be going. They were supposed to be going the hell away from the Batcave and Batman and... whatever else could be associated with him.

Mind still whirling with confused thoughts and even more confusing images, sounds and memories, Clark lifted his head up, banging it against the crystal behind him.

And, suddenly, everything seemed to come into place. To become clear. As if all he had needed was to hit his head against a wall for this mess of thoughts to order themselves out.

He sat there for a few moments, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

Everything made sense now.

Bruce hadn't been under the influence of anything at all, meaning any of his actions were done of his own free will. And as for Clark himself, well... tied up or not, there was no denying he'd wanted this, and that he would not have let it happen if he'd been completely averse to the idea. Meaning that he'd also done things of his own free will.

And if they'd both done things of their own free will, then...

Clark had no more taken advantage of Bruce than Bruce had taken advantage of him. It had really all been consensual. Every last moment of it.

Which was... perfectly acceptable.

Furthermore, he'd assumed that all Bruce had been after was sex, but then... that didn't explain his odd behavior over the last day. The fact that he'd asked Clark to come see him, _please_? The look in Bruce's eyes and the slight tremble in his voice when he'd said he couldn't stop thinking about the night before... that... meant something, right? And when he'd insisted they should _talk_ when he'd tried to get Clark to come back once he'd fled the cave...

Yes, they probably needed to talk.

Not probably - certainly.

=:=:=

Batman stared blankly at the screen before him. He wasn't altogether certain how things had gone so completely out of hand. What he was certain of was that he was angry. Spectacularly so. But whether his anger should be directed at himself, or at Clark, he wasn't entirely certain anymore.

So, he decided to do the same thing he would do with any other puzzle - what any halfway decent detective would do when handed a set of clues that didn't seem to fit together properly. Reducing the puzzle pieces to their smallest denominators, analyzing them, and putting the thing back together again. Hopefully, then, he'd have a solution.

Of course, this particular puzzle had a human variable to it. Well, a Kryptonian one, to be more precise. That didn't matter; he'd figure it out. Wasn't he the World's Greatest Detective, after all?

For a long time, Batman obsessed over his 'puzzle' - hoping to figure out what had gone wrong, where, and whose fault that was. But as much as he tried, he hadn't the faintest idea what had made Clark bolt out of the cave... Everything else, Bruce had pretty much figured out. Everything, except the reason for that.

Granted, Clark hadn't seemed pleased with the fact that Bruce hadn't been under the influence - though he was quite certain this didn't mean he would have wished him to be, either - but why that particular revelation had caused him to flee was... still a mystery.

For all of five seconds - figuratively speaking - Bruce had had a taste of something he'd secretly longed for, for years. It had been right there in his grasp, and he'd had just enough of a taste to know that he wanted more - much, much more. Earlier tonight he'd thought he'd won somehow, that it was his - that he could have it; perhaps even keep it. That he could have _him_.

But no.

Just like everything else, it was all gone. Bruce had done something that had... killed it.

And for the life of him, he wasn't sure what he'd done - or not done - and therefore he couldn't figure out how to fix it. This wasn't a death and hence he should have been able to _undo_ this. But for that to happen, he needed to speak to Clark - except that Clark refused to speak to him.

Frustrated, tired - confused and hurt, too - Batman shut off his computer screen. He'd sent Robin out on patrol on his own hours ago; there was no need for Batman himself to head out anyway, things seemed quiet enough out there. There had only been one call all evening, and that had been Oracle, asking questions that had only caused Batman to ask himself more of his own.

He pushed against the desk, rolling back on his chair just far enough to be able to get up. And then slowly, dejectedly, he went upstairs to the Manor, and right up to his bedroom, mumbling to himself the entire way.

Hours later, the sun was about to come up. He hadn't stopped staring at the ceiling; completely unable to sleep.

All of a sudden, there was an odd, creaking sound. For a moment, Bruce listened carefully - waiting to see if there would be another. But when he heard nothing after having waited a certain amount of time, Bruce laughed - mostly at himself - pulled the covers over his head, and closed his eyes again.

And suddenly, there it was again.

Immediately Bruce bolted, assuming an upright sitting position in bed. All muscles on alert, ready to spring to action if need be. He looked around, but saw absolutely nothing at all. He dropped back down onto the mattress, mumbling to himself.

"You're an idiot," he said. "Not every noise means someone's gotten inside your house." Silently, his mind added that even if someone _had_ gotten inside his house, it was rather pointless to assume that it might be a certain alien he knew, blessed with the ability to fly up to the second story and come in through a window.

"Sometimes it does," came a soft voice from out in the hall.

Bruce heard more creaking, then finally he saw a figure standing right in front of his door. He rubbed his eyes, uncertain that it wasn't just his imagination.

"Clark? What are--?" Bruce started, confused. He wasn't sure how to end his question exactly.

"I'm sure this could have waited," Clark said, slowly walking inside the bedroom. "I hadn't realized you were sleeping."

Bruce sat up in his bed. "I wasn't."

"Oh. Uh..." Clark cleared his throat nervously. "I think we should talk."

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea," Bruce agreed. "Come, sit. Or should we go somewhere that isn't my bedroom?"

"No, here is fine," Clark replied, laughing a bit uneasily. He looked around for a chair, then seemed to decide that standing was perfectly fine. "I just wanted to apologize, and, um--"

"No, wait, don't," Bruce said, lifting a hand up to stop him. "Just tell me one thing... why did you leave?"

Clark swallowed hard. "I was... confused."

"And you being here now means...you're no longer confused?"

"Well, maybe a little still," Clark admitted, "but I think for the most part I'm not, no."

Brows furrowed, Bruce asked, "Is that good or bad?"

"Depends what you think is good..."

"I'm asking you."

"Good, then." Clark smiled, though he was still obviously nervous and Bruce couldn't help but find it amusing that it was Superman standing over there - in the red and blue suit - making this such an incongruous sight.

"Okay, then." Bruce smiled and Clark seemed a little less nervous. "Listen, about the green K, I'm sorry. Really sorry. You know I would never-- I wasn't anywhere near in my right mind at the time, you have to know that."

"But you were thinking straight the rest of the time, weren't you?"

Bruce bit back a chuckle. "I think we've established that _straight_ was probably not the right term," he said. When Clark appeared to be glaring at him, Bruce amended his original answer. "Sorry... Yes, I was in my right mind, and acting of my own free will, from the moment I woke up the morning after the explosion in the lab. After that I thought we were both on the same page and that we both... wanted the things that happened then. I did, at any rate. Does that...answer your question?"

"Yes." Clark nodded. "Yes, it does, thank you. I was hoping you'd say that, actually..."

"Does that-- Does that mean we're okay, then?"

"I think so."

Bruce frowned slightly. This was the answer he had hoped for, but this wasn't really telling him much of anything at all. A shadow of fear seemed to grip him right at the throat - what if okay meant they were sweeping this under the rug? That was certainly not the kind of okay Bruce was looking for.

"How--" Bruce cleared his throat noisily. "Just how okay are we?" he finally managed to ask.

"How okay would you want us to be?" Clark asked after a long, awkward pause.

Another mostly awkward pause later, Bruce replied, "I think that's probably up to you."

"Where-- where do you see this -" Clark waved a finger alternately between them "- going? If anywhere..."

"Forward," Bruce answered immediately, before amending with a hesitant, "I hope? Wherever you want to take this, Clark...I'm ready to follow."

"That's...good to know."

Clark's hands went to his back, his long red cape rustling at the motion. He appeared to be untying something, or undoing something, but what that was Bruce couldn't tell. Wasn't the belt, because the buckle was in front, and wasn't the suit because the zipper for that was well above the waist. Bruce watched for a few more seconds, but before he could manage to ask Clark what he was doing, Clark had taken a step toward the bed and deposited an object on the pillow, though keeping his hand over it.

"I brought you these back," he said, his cheeks turning a slightly darker shade of red. "Fixed and everything." Clark took his hand off to reveal a pair of batcuffs, then he took a step back.

Bruce's brain functions seemed to come to a grinding halt. He picked up the batcuffs, weighed them in his hand, and he heard himself say thank you as he dropped them behind him in the bedside table's drawer.

Clark cleared his throat and Bruce looked up, still a little astounded.

"We, uh, seemed to have been...interrupted," Clark said, his voice wavering slightly. "Last night. For some reason. And I was, um, wondering... hoping, really..." He paused, smiled awkwardly as he looked up from the floor, then his eyes dropped back to where he'd left the batcuffs and, wringing his hands nervously, he went on, "That we might... uh... _resume_ \--?" Clark's eyes snapped up, suddenly looking for an answer.

Bruce grabbed one end of the sheets, and pulled them swiftly away, clearly inviting the other man to join him. When Clark made no attempt to move, Bruce tapped the pillow lightly, nodding to indicate his consent.

Leaving two shiny red boots behind, Clark slowly climbed into bed, his eyes searching Bruce's for some sort of assurance that this was all right.

In a half chuckle, Bruce said, "You should probably lose the spandex pajamas, if you're hoping to resume anything..."

"Oh. Right."

Blushing desperately, Clark got up again. There was a swirl of red and blue, then, a heartbeat later, he was back under the covers and Bruce found himself staring directly into Clark's eyes, barely a fraction of an inch away.

"You're adorably cute when you're nervous," Bruce told him, smiling. "You might want to stop doing that."

Brows furrowed, Clark was about to protest, but Bruce didn't let him. He placed an index finger over his lips, to keep him from saying anything, then, still smiling he added, "Because if you _don't_ , I'm afraid you'll end up being stuck with me..."

Clark brushed a small kiss on Bruce's finger, just as he was taking it away. "As long as there's no batcuffs involved, I think I could live with that."

"Deal." Bruce nodded, then leaned in to seal the deal with a kiss.

> End.


End file.
